


i want us both to eat well

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Fingers in Mouth, Guilty Pleasures, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: Yuri's thoughts go astray when he's alone.For Kinktober 2020.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: kinktober 2020





	i want us both to eat well

**Author's Note:**

> first time writing this pairing, i hope you enjoy it!

He knows he shouldn’t have let himself get worked up like this. 

It had all started, as many things tend to start, relatively innocuously. Yuri supposes that there are some who might consider a lady and an unreputable young man meeting for a meal something inherently scandalous- he’d kept the affair surreptitious for that reason alone, far be it from him feeling any shame or fear at the knowledge of his meetings with the daughter of House Galatea- but as far as he had been concerned, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on when it came to his dinners with Ingrid. Both of them needed, and enjoyed, the cooking practice involved in bringing a dish each to the clandestine affair, and (as far as Yuri understood the situation) both of them found the experience a useful respite from the stress of mounting a campaign against the overwhelming might of the Adrestian Empire. 

Nothing about it was untoward, in premise or in practice- which is, Yuri thinks, at least one of the reasons having his fist wrapped tight around his cock makes him as guilty as he is giddy. At no point had Ingrid expressed something conducive to his right to _this_ \- nothing obvious, like _I want you to want to fuck me silly_ , or even subtle, like a soft glance lingering for just a few seconds too long before darting back to the shadow-shrouded corners of the empty dining hall. 

In retrospect, he _should_ have stopped her from putting a finger in his mouth. The rare Brigidian sauce she’d only been able to obtain a vialful of _had_ been delicious, and Yuri doesn’t doubt for a moment that this alternate him, untempted and blissfully unaware, is rather mournful about missing his opportunity to try it. Yet- it’s _that_ him that lacks the frankly fatal knowledge of how _good_ it had all felt. Knowledge- of fingers both gentle and calloused prying his jaw apart and rubbing _teasingly_ against the flat of his tongue- that continues to damn him as he pumps his cock, breath shaking and faltering each time it feels all too good for him to deserve it. 

Yuri grits his teeth, and forces out a sigh. 

_I really need to get on with this_.

There’s no rest for the wicked- and he’s already much too eager to stop. Looking at himself feels wrong, so Yuri shuts his eyes, focusing all of himself on his touch, how _hot_ he is underneath his own palm. A bead of precome smears across his thumb when he caresses the head, warm enough to feel strange against his own cold skin- there’s no lubricant nearby, and he’s hard-pressed to want to find any, lest he lose track of himself and find his way back some more inconvenient time, so he smears what he can pull from himself across his straining shaft. 

Breathing unsteady, leaning against the wall that’s next to his bed in the private quarters generously assigned to him by Byleth (he still prefers Abyss, always will- but it’s hard to deny that a private space makes for somewhere better to think, or just to be alone), Yuri’s other hand slips down his root to cup his balls, stroking them as he increases the friction against his shaft. 

Alone in the candle-light, he lets himself moan Ingrid’s name, recounting second-by-second the feeling of her letting him wrap his tongue around the rough pad of her forefinger, experimental and eager all at once. He’d been stunned in the moment, everything much too strange for him to process, and had only even noticed the erection straining at the front of his trousers minutes after Ingrid had relented on her questions about the taste of the sauce which had been the point of it all in the first place. 

_Salty_ , Yuri had thought. Too salty for his taste, though Ingrid had insisted it was much more complicated, and that _she_ hadn’t tasted much salt at all. Only alone does he realize that the salt on his tongue likely wasn’t from the sauce, but rather from Ingrid- _her_ taste, sweat and effort built up over the course of the day, hours training followed by hours in a kitchen no doubt heated by the ambiance of a wood-fired oven. 

His cock _twitches_. He knows he won’t last much longer- not with his thoughts already winding him up, sending him into a freefall that’s almost too much to bear. With Ingrid’s face at the forefront of his mind, his touch deepens, pressed rough against his length. 

He whines. His mind is cloudy, interspersed with images of Ingrid’s face, as warm and welcoming as it had been when she’d touched him. Imagining sex with her, Yuri finds, is too much- it feels corruptive. So he settles instead for the idea of her inviting him back to taste her, one hand pressed against the edge of his jaw as she works a finger inside and pries his jaw open, no resistance between her and the butter-soft flesh inside.

He can trust her. He already _has_ trusted her, against his best instincts, and emerged alive. Perhaps that’s the most arousing thing- that Ingrid won’t hurt him, wouldn’t even dare lay a finger on him. 

_It’s alright if she doesn’t want me_ , Yuri thinks. _It’s enough for us to be close. Truly, unfalteringly close_. 

Yuri comes, then and there, spending hot and tense into the cup of his own palm. He imagines Ingrid probing him, holding him close, as he does, _yelping_ in his solitary confines, pulled as he is underneath the hot wave of his own climax.

When Yuri regains himself, he grimaces. There’s a wretched feeling in the pool of his stomach, writhing like a living thing, and it’s one he knows too well. And, yet, he can’t fight it- he lets it lie there instead, waits for the tide of it to ebb away naturally. 

He’ll see her tomorrow- but he knows he won’t tell her. About this, or anything- and if she ever thinks about sticking a finger in his mouth again, he’ll just have to find another excuse.

Or, he’ll let it happen, and watch how far he might fall.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @meowcosm on twitter, kudos and comments are appreciated!


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